Beauty is a Beast
by TheAmaryllisBlossom
Summary: Appearance is everything. Beauty is on the inside. To Acelynn, perhaps the former is better applied.   Featuring BatB/Cinderella likenesses, kidnapping, and far-off places.
1. Meeting Acelynn Abrielle Blanche

**************Disclaimer:** **I don't think it matters if I have one of these or not for a fairytale story, but for the record, I don't own **_Beauty _****_and the Beast, _**or****_ Cinderella_**.** **;) Or any of the other fairytales I might put in . . . But it'll probably just be **_Beauty and_****_ the Beast _**and Cinderella******.**  
><strong>**A/N:** **This is my first fairytale **_and_** **my first story with chapters. I don't know how this will go; it might be terrible . . . But hopefully not! Anyway, let me know what you think! Also, in all honesty, I don't care how long I've had something up and someone wants to review. Even if it's been four months, I don't mind if you review. I promise not to think any less of you! ;) Don't be scared! I want to know what everybody thinks - good, bad, or in between!  
><strong><span>About the story<span>****:** **I'm not going to summarize anymore, 'cause that would just give stuff away, but I will say this: 1) The story is set modern times. 2) I'll be using the Disney version of **_Beauty and_****_ the Beast_**,** **since I personally like it better. 3) This will have more **_Beauty and_****_ the Beast _**in** **it than **_Cinderella._**** I** **just thought I should mention that. 4) The story won't be based off **_Beauty and_****_ the Beast/Cinderella_**,** **but rather my own story with **_Beauty and_****_ the Beast/Cinderella_** **details put in. To anybody that knows the movies, a lot of the details I put in should be fairly obvious and recognizable. *Takes a deep breath* I'm long-winded today.**  
><strong>**P.S.:** **She's supposed to sound conceited, though not mean. I dunno how well it went . . .**  
><strong>***Amaryllis*****************************************************************************************************************************************

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beauty is<em>****_ a Beast  
><em>**_Meeting_****_ Acelynn Abrielle Blanche_************

My name is Acelynn Abrielle Blanche. I'm French, but after my parents divorced and Papa got remarried, we moved to the United States. I'm fluent in both French and English. My _mère_, mother, got remarried as well, but she lives in France, so I visit on long holidays, like Christmas.

My parents and my stepsister's parents divorced at such a close time to each other that my sister and I were born just two weeks apart. Vella was born on February first; I was born on February fourteenth. Maybe that's why I'm so beautiful. I was born on the holiday of love.

Anyway, back to my name. 'Acelynn' is the American part, meaning 'Beautiful one'. My middle name is French. 'Abrielle' means 'God is my strength'. My family is religious. I take it seriously, and I know it's important. And, in all honesty, what name could suit me better? 'Blanche', my last name, just means 'White'. My stepsister's name is Vella Ophelie Blanche.

Once remarried, Estee, my stepmother, had her last name completely changed, no hyphens or anything. My father had custody of me, and my stepmother of Vella, so we ended up together. So my sister and I are both Blanche's.

'Vella', the American half of Vella Ophelie, means 'Beautiful'. 'Ophelie', my sister's French middle name, means 'helper'. Beautiful helper. If anything, Vella's name suits her better than mine. Almost. Now, Vella _is_ pretty. But not drop-dead-gorgeous, as I am. She has kind of a classic look, with dark ebony curls that go almost to her waist, and large, bright blue eyes. She has skin that's even paler than mine, but in a luminescent sort of way. My sister, though, doesn't have a single freckle, unlike myself. Her face is sweet, and she's very petite. Vella is only about five foot.

No matter how much I love Vella, she's just a bit prettier than average - nothing like me. But she's a wonderful person. She can read a recipe for the first time, memorize it, and cook it perfectly. In one go. Vella is, hands down, the nicest person that anybody could ever meet. She and I volunteer at the soup kitchen. Vella organizes all sorts of charity events, all the time. Maybe she should take my middle name as a second one. Because Vella _never_ loses her cool. Always nice to the poor people. To the whiny kids I can't stand in church. She is patient, almost to a fault. All that strength has to come from _somewhere._ In a different sense, she's just as perfect as I am. She's sweet, and rather quiet, though not timid. Vella just prefers silence. Now, _she__'__s_ the brain of the family. Vella always has some sort of nonfiction book, takes AP college courses, and has rectangular glasses she puts on to read. Suffice it to say, Vella usually has glasses on. But they _contribute_ to her appearance. If _I_ put on anything besides sunglasses, I'd be demoted from 'I'd-kill-to-look-half-as-good-as-you', to 'Oh, wow. Are you a model?'

But I'd _still_ look great!

* * *

><p>I sigh contently and push back my quilts. I had been having a really great dream. My boyfriend had proposed to me. His name is Arty, but he prefers 'Aries'. That's his stage name. He's a rising actor.<p>

In my dream, he'd proposed near a frozen lake. It was night and snow was falling . . . Stars were twinkling . . . It had been so romantic. But that's how I knew it wasn't real. Arty isn't a romantic. Not even on my birthday, Valentine's Day. Oh, well. Sometimes there have to be negotiations, right?

It's early, around eight-thirty. Well, for a Saturday it's early. But this doesn't bother me; I love to wake up early. On weekdays, I wake up at seven sharp, and I don't even need to get up until at least nine. Either way, it's not like I need the beauty sleep.

It's perfectly true, too. I'm just one of those people - naturally graceful and effortlessly flawless. I am alluring and angelic, exquisitely so. I am also quite intelligent. Not like Vella, really, but smart enough. The list goes on in the ways I am perfect. Ha! Not even the word _perfect_ can describe how purely utopian I am.

I have gorgeous dead-straight chestnut colored hair. It's easy to style, never frizzes, and isn't ever dry _or_ greasy_._ My eyes are a bright, sparkling green, and my skin is silky smooth and clear, except for a cute dusting of freckles across my nose and along my cheekbones. Said cheekbones were a perfect size, not too prominent for my face, or too small as to be nonexistent. I'm five foot three and a half, not too tall, and not too short. I have a decidedly wonderful weight. Yes, not too skinny (Anorexia is _so_ not healthy) and not too large (Over eating isn't healthy, either).

Now, I suppose you could look at all this "not too this, not too that" business as me extraordinarily embellishing my appearance. _Or_ me being average. But I'm not. When I walk down the street, boys stare at my unreal perfection. Girls seethe in jealousy. Even men forty years old, twice my age, unashamedly watch me as I flow gracefully from one step to the next. Cars nearly crash, since the drivers are looking at me (now, I _do_ feel a _bit_ guilty about those. But it's not _my_ fault I'm unworldly!). Everyone thinks I am angel come down from above.

And I couldn't agree more.

_No, _I'm not an _angel._Though people have a hard time believing _that._ And maybe cars don't almost _crash_, but people really do stare. I'm not delusional – I look like an airbrushed super-model that walked off the cover of a magazine.

Maybe it's because I'm a health-nut. I probably have a healthy glow or something. I eat balanced meals, exercise – the whole package. I am the 'entire package!'

And I come wrapped in gold foil, with a neat little bow on top.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN2: Was it confusing? I don't know _exactly_ when I'll update again, since it depends on my schedule. Probably sometime in the next week Chapter 2 will be up. This was pretty much just an intro, so I'm sorry there wasn't much that was all that interesting to read. In the next chapter you'll learn more about Acelynn's stepmother, father, and maybe her boyfriend and her other best friend. It'll be more clear later, but Vella and Acelynn are very close, and she, Vella, and her other best friend are a close-knit group. It's sort of like the 'Golden Trio' relationship, if you're into _Harry __Potter_ (Hint, hint). Please review! ;)**

***TheAmaryllisBlossom***

**31st October 2011**


	2. Meeting Arty, Rising Actor

**A/N: Here's Chapter 2! I figured I'd better get out fast, since nobody's going to read something with just _one_ chapter up . . . I hope it's good . . . Here we go! It's longer than the first, but I don't know if there will be a constant length of my chapters. **

**_Beauty is a Beast__  
>Meeting Arty, Rising Actor <em>**

* * *

><p>As soon as I get up, I head directly to the shower, and then proceed back to my room. I sit down at my vanity table near the window, blow dry my hair, and give it its daily one hundred ten strokes. When you're as beautiful as I am, it <em>never<em> hurts to go above and beyond – not that there's that much left to do so that I become _more_ beautiful.

I head down to the kitchen, where Vella is already experimenting with apple pancakes.

We don't speak as I start the fresh orange juice. Vella is quiet when she cooks, except for occasional humming. I don't mind. I hardly ever speak the first hour I'm awake. It's too peaceful to ruin the morning with chatter.

I am actually surprised Vella is up now. She's the night owl, so she sleeps late.

I figure I have a few minutes before pancakes are ready, and set the juice aside to chill. I walk to the front door, where my burgundy winter jacket and black snow boots are in the closet. I open the door, stepping into the early-winter snow.

I walk to the hen house to collect eggs, passing Papa on the way. We're both early risers. Papa is milking our cow, Bluebell. We own a small farm; some of the chickens are also . . . er . . . _harvested_ as well. We grow apples and vegetables, and also own a horse – Pepin.

Pepin loves me. Not a surprise, really – everyone does. Plants also love me. I'm excellent at growing plants. I grow all our fruit, vegetables, and flowers.

I wave at Papa as I pass, and smile as he waves back. There's no better way to start the morning with a smile.

I arrive at the hen house, quickly gather eggs, and get out. Quickly. I hate chickens. Well, live ones, anyway. It smells weird in the hen house, too. My family thinks I'm crazy, but if those hens fixed their beady eyes on _you_, I'd love to see if you _didn't_ run.

* * *

><p>I arrive back at our little white-painted red-shuddered house. It looks classy, personally. I go inside and shed my coat and boots, then put away the eggs and the milk Papa had given me when I passed on my way back.<p>

As I sit down at the table, I see that Vella has already set the dishes and silverware, put the pancakes on the table, and has already given each of us (Papa, Estee, herself, and I) a glass half-full of my orange juice. Vella suddenly appears next to me, and she sits so that we can wait for Papa and Estee.

"How come you're up this early?" I ask, fingering my fork. I'm _hungry_.

"So you could get ready for Arty. You have to leave at eleven, right? And it takes you _forever_ to get ready for Arty—" I cut my sister off with a huge hug. That's Vella for you. Always thinking – for everyone else. I have time management issues; Vella knows I never would have made it out on time today without her. I'd have been _at least_ twenty minutes late. And it's already _nine-thirty_!

"Oh, thank you _so_ much. I'll _never_ be able to thank you enough, I would've been –" I start to say over her shoulder, but Vella interrupts and says,

"Really late, I know." She laughs and I release her. I am forever thankful, because today is Arty and my two-year anniversary. I tell Vella that to thank her, I'll set her up with one of Arty's friends. She's okay with it, which surprised me. Vella's not the famous-guy type; that's me. She said something about "Observing different behaviors" and "Science". Really, though, I think it's because we haven't double-dated in over a year, since Vella doesn't like Arty all that much. But she does love analyzing his friends' behaviors – towards each other, towards me, towards her. Vella loves studying "Human and animal behaviors". It's one of the few subjects she doesn't get bored of quickly. I personally don't get it.

I hear someone behind me, and turn to see Estee standing behind me. She sits down in the chair left of me, across from Vella.

I don't call her "Stepmother" or anything. I simply call her by her name: Estee. She has the same long, ebony curls that she passed on to Vella, but her eyes are gray. She has a heart-shaped face, and skin that might be even more clear and luminescent than my sister's.

"Good morning," Estee says to us, with a smile. She's beautiful, too. In an older, more mature way than I. I don't think it's possible for someone _not_ to be beautiful; there's always _something_, whether inside or out, that strikes _someone_ as beautiful. It's just a matter of finding that person.

We all look up as Papa comes in, Vella saying "_Finally_, Papa! We just about _died_ waiting for you!" Vella called Papa "Papa", as I did. She didn't seem to mind two "Papa's". Maybe because she knew that her Papa and my Papa would probably never be near each other at the same time. Vella's biological father was in France still, too.

Papa chuckled and sat down. He prayed, and we began to eat.

* * *

><p>"Slow down!" Estee laughed as I gulped down my last bit of orange juice, dumped all my dishes into the sink full of soapy water, and tossed my napkin in the trash.<p>

"I can't!" I screech (screeching, while unattractive for most, works for me), "I've got to get ready, Arty will be here any minute!" Exaggeration, of course: I have precisely one hour and ten minutes to get ready. But it's not _enough_!

I run upstairs to my closet, staring wildly (which just makes my eyes look bigger, instead of crazed). I pull out a black pencil skirt, a pale pink half-sleeved sweater, and grab my heels. Dressing is the easy part. As soon as I finish, I rush to my vanity table and sit.

_Deep breaths, take deep breaths._ I tell myself. Rushing hair and make-up won't do any good. I look at my clock: I still have fifty-seven minutes. I plug in my crimper, and while it's heating I brush my teeth and apply mascara, eyeliner, and paint my nails a pale pink to match my top and eyeshadow.

I run back to my crimper. It's heated, and I have about forty minutes. I start crimping, and when I finish, pull my hair back. I left a few front locks straightened, and I pull those back with a pearly clip. I put in matching earrings and a necklace, and then rush over to my full-length mirror.

Perfect, as usual. I always get a rush of satisfaction, thinking that.

* * *

><p>I wait by the door, coat in hand. It's ten fifty-nine. Arty's always right on time.<p>

Estee comes from the kitchen, where she and Vella had been baking my "surprise". My family and I all knew that I was expecting an engagement proposal today. We were positive Arty would propose today. They were ready with a party.

Estee gives me a hug. She's just a few inches taller than me, even when I'm in heels.

"Don't expect too much, honey. He's not a mind reader, you know." She says, and I know she's referring to the way Arty may propose. It might not be the way I want. Papa proposed to _her_ when Vella and I were two years old. They had just finished riding through the beautiful terrain of France when Papa "fell" off his horse – straight into the mud. So Estee stopped, helped him to his knees, and then he asked her if she'd be with him forever – to marry him. Of course she said yes. Papa says he fell on purpose, with class. Vella and I say he's klutzy and a hopeless romantic. Estee usually just laughs helplessly when the topic comes up.

"I won't," I whisper in her ear. "Well," I continue, "There's always _hope_. But Arty's not a romantic, like me. I'll try." I tell her as she releases me. And I will; but I won't stop hoping. Arty can surprise people sometimes. Maybe he'll surprise me.

"Have a good time, stay safe." She murmurs to me, before giving my arm a squeeze and retreating into the kitchen where Vella is. I hear the crunch of wheels on gravel.

He's here!

I hurriedly open the door, only to be disappointed.

It's only Derek.

Derek is my best friend. Besides Vella, of course. The three of us have been friends forever. Ever since the time Vella and I were new to the neighborhood, and Derek was the only kid our age willing to look past our funny French-toddler accents.

But there was a problem. Derek's infatuated with _me_. Well, how beautiful I am, and we both know it. But I, of course, am in love with and going to marry Arty. But I do feel bad; it's not like guys can help but be attracted to me.

Derek's walking up the stairs, all sandy-haired and brown-eyed, and I feel so _guilty_ for being so _beautiful,_ but it isn't my fault! I can't help being prettier than most! I hope he gets over this infatuation soon. _Really_ soon. Maybe I'll find one of Arty's friends for him, too. I wonder if he'd like an actress or a singer better?

"Have you seen Arty? Did you pass him?" I ask him anxiously, shifting my feet and peering behind him. Peering behind Derek is hard, because he's _tall_.

"You mean he's not here?" Derek replies, surprised.

I shake my head slowly, so he can register the motion. "No. And he's always on time! It's our two year anniversary, where is he?" I wail.

Derek awkwardly pats my shoulder, tells me it'll be okay, and rushes into the kitchen, where his less dramatic best friend is baking angel food cake.

Ha, ha. Angel food cake. For the angel. I would have laughed at Vella's wit ten minutes ago, but now it just made me want to cry.

* * *

><p>I glumly sat in the kitchen, watching Vella make icing and cut strawberries for my cake. I don't now where she got strawberries this time of year. I sigh heavily. Derek glances up from licking his finger free of icing, after having swiped it from the bowl and being playfully beaten by Vella. That should've made me laugh.<p>

"Why don't you just call him?" Vella asks exasperatedly. I'm trying her patience: if there's anything Vella despises, it's useless sighing, which I've been doing every other minute since I cam in here, half an hour ago.

"I don't want to nag him!" I answer. What if I interrupted a scene? Arty _hates _that. Derek sighs too, and gets a warning glare from Vella. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it as we all stop moving. Someone's pulling in the driveway.

"Arty's here, bye!" I shout, and run to the door, slipping my heels back on and putting on another coat of lip gloss. I open the door, and there, indeed, is Arty. He's standing on our doorstep, blond hair neat as a pin and gray eyes looking down at me, as if nothing unusual has happened.

"Where were you? Are you okay? Did you car beak down?" I look over his shoulder (he's shorter than Derek) and see that his car's there, intact.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" he replies. I tell him he was late, and that he's (until today) uncannily punctual. He just shrugs, telling me that his scene ran late.

"Oh. That's all?" I say, trying not to sound disappointed. My last resort had been that he'd been working on a surprise . . .

"Let's go." Arty says, locking arms with me and escorting me to his car, as usual. He told me I looked cute, which made me blush prettily, and then we went to lunch.

* * *

><p>We got back at seven. We had lunch, took a drive (that got me excited, but still <em>no special surprise<em>), had dinner with his co-workers, saw a movie, and arrived back where this whole date started. My house. Huh.

Arty escorts me up the door, as usual (Uh, are you going to propose _here?_ At my front _door_?), and I say,

"Arty, do you know what today is?"

"It's not your birthday, right?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"It's our anniversary. Our _two year anniversary!_" I almost yell. I can't believe he _forgot_. I've been prattling on about this for _three. Whole. Weeks._ And for what? Nothing! My eyes start tearing. I look gorgeous when I cry – big, bright, sparkling eyes and my skin doesn't even blotch. No runny nose, either.

I hope my sad sniffling and teary eyes get across through that _thick skull_.

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart!" he says, "It's not that important!"

"What? What do you mean, it's not –" I start to screech for the second time today, but Arty cuts me off.

He kisses me. Psh.

"Well, I guess –" I'm cut off again, because he kisses me _again_. I give in.

"It's not important." I say when I get the chance.

"That's right," Arty says.

"Goodnight," I say softly, and kiss the tip of his nose. I get a smudge of lipstick on it. I giggle. "Aries the red-nosed reindeer" I sing.

Arty does not find this amusing. He growls and rubs his nose, which of course only makes it worse. I laugh lightly, using my coat sleeve to get the remnants off.

"Thanks. G'night baby," he says, and saunters over to his car. I watch him leave, and head inside.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN 2: Wow. How 'bout Arty? I don't like him much - kind of sleazy. Much with Vella will be happening soon! Please Review!  
><strong>


	3. Riddles

**A/N: All right. Chapter 3 . . . I hope you like it . And anyway, how is it so far? Please leave me reviews and let me know what you think!**

** *Amaryllis***

_**Beauty Is a Beast**_

_**Riddles  
><strong>_

I hang up my coat and mercifully step out of my heels. I sigh and walk to the kitchen where Vella inevitably is.

She's frosting my cake. I hold in a second sigh, as Vella hates useless sighing, as mentioned before. I slide into the seat at the counter I'd vacated when I left to great Arty, almost seven hours ago.

"What's the matter?" So to the point – I love this about my sister.

"Wrong? Oh, nothing." I, on the other hand, am _never_ to the point. I accidentally let a sigh slip out.

Vella finishes the icing and starts aligning strawberries. The way she cut them, straight down through the center, makes them look like hearts. My heart's like one of those strawberries. Cut in half. "Out with it Aces."

I manage a half-smile at my nickname, but it quickly fades. "Well, you see, it's Arty, he - "

Vella's expression darkens, but neither she nor I have the chance to say anything, because right then Derek chooses to walk in. He plops down next to me.

"Your parents are waiting to officially here the news." He tells me.

"Unh," I reply, plunking my head into my arms, across the countertop. The peach-colored surface is smooth and cool. I think I'll just stay here, thank-you very much.

Derek looks between Vella and I. "What did I do?" he asks, and I spare him my left eye.

"Nothing," I reply into my elbow, not lifting my head to speak. It feels heavy, especially with the built up pressure of all the tears I'm waiting to shed. If I don't go tell my parents now, I'll be a mess when I finally get out there. Well, you know, an emotional one. I can't _look_ a mess because:

I have waterproof mascara.

I'm perfect, meaning I look beautiful when I cry, in case you forgot.

Vella nudges the last strawberry in place, her nose crinkled as she focuses to make everything flawless. "Acelynn," she starts, "Didn't get her proposal." Vella sounds sad, even if Arty isn't her favorite guy. I mean, they get along, but there's always been a sort of friction between them. Like they were waiting for a reason to have a shouting match at each other.

Remember what I said? Vella's the nicest, most patient person I know. I've only ever vaguely wondered _why_ Arty would tick her off so badly. He's not such an awful person as to make _Vella_ angry, is he?

Nope. Not my Arty. She's just paranoid. Right?

_But what if she _is _right?_ Stupid inner voice.

_Pft, whatever, _I tell it.

That promptly shuts it up.

Anyway, Vella sounds sorry for me.

"I'm so sorry, Ace," Derek tells me. A single tear slides from my left eye, across my nose, and onto my right wrist beneath it. I feel Derek's hand awkwardly patting my arm, and Vella's more steady hand rubbing my back. Vella better have kids. She is _so_ not allowed to waste her wonderful mothering talents on her emotional wreck of a sister.

"He didn't even know," I mumble, "That – that it was our a – an- anniversary!" More tears. _Why _wouldn't he remember? Why wouldn't Arty care? I love him! He loves me!

Wait.

That's all that matters. We love each other. Arty was right, as usual.

"No, it's o-okay." I hiccup, but I'm done crying. I smile brightly. "I'll go tell Papa and Estee." I suggest, and hop off my stool. My friends stare at me. Well, I suppose that was all very fast, but honestly, try to keep up! I'm miraculous. I pull these kinds of things off every day.

"Papa, Estee!" I call, "Arty didn't propose. But that's okay; I'm not ready yet anyway."

Papa and Estee exchange baffled glances, but I hardly register them as I run up the stairs to change, and apologize to Arty.

* * *

><p>I slip into my favorite winter pajamas: black with multi-sized blue polka dots. I brush my hair, braid it, and remove all my make-up. I put on my fuzzy slippers, and collapse with a blanket into the chair near my window. The chair is in the corner, set on an angle, and has a perfect view from the window; I can see the street below, and across from our house is Derek's. I slip out my phone. It has a bubble-gum pink cover on it.<p>

_Hey im sorry about freakin out earlier._

Usually I have a pet peeve: perfect grammar while texting. But I am in such a hurry to apologize, that I don't even worry about it. It takes a couple minutes, but Arty texts back:

_Yeah no prob. My shoot's at 3 tmw._

I am such a terrible girlfriend. I completely forgot his photo shoot tomorrow. Er, no reason to cause a fight (again):

_Ill be there 3_

Arty asked a couple weeks ago if I'd go with him. Of course, wonderful person that I am, I agreed.

Bonus: my picture with Arty splattered all over magazine covers. We are the most beautiful couple out there; why not let everyone know it? Ooh, a reply!

_I know_

Oh, good. He doesn't doubt me. I almost sigh in relief, but really, I've done that enough today.

We finish our conversation, and I get my robe. It's time for my cake.

* * *

><p>I arrive in the living room to everyone talking. They all look up when I enter.<p>

"Oh, good! I'll go cut the cake! Honey, I need your help." This comes from Estee, addressing Papa.

"Er, right." He replies, following my step mom from the room. This leaves Vella, Derek, and I.

I clear my throat, cutting through the tension that had built up. "I've apologized."

"Wonderful!" From Vella, and a "Erm, great Ace." From Derek.

Hang on. Had they been talking about me?

"Nope." Says Vella.

How'd she read my mind like that?

Vella laughs, "Your face is the most expressive one I know, Acelynn."

Question answered.

"And," Derek continues for Vella. "We weren't talking about you. Just Arty . . . and you. As a couple. Together. Not just you."

Vella pokes him lightly in the shoulder, the 'Shut-up-you're-blabbering' signal.

"Oh," I say, relieved. I plop on the couch next to them. "What about us?"

Vella shrugs. "Just wondering when the proposal would come. Don't you think Arty . . ." she trails off, looking at me to continue. I nod my head, beautiful caramel colored braid swaying.

"Don't you think he's a tad controlling? Doesn't it bother you?" Vella and Derek ask these at the same time.

"Well . . . Yeah, I guess it does." I say thoughtfully. "But" I continue, "Arty's just watching out for me. A _ton_ of people are jealous of him, you know."

Derek laughs weakly, and Vella manages a small smile.

"Yeah." They both say in sync. But they sound unsure, and still look odd. My parents come in with cake, and the stifling conversation dissolves.

* * *

><p>I walk into Vella's room before I go to my own to sleep. The lights are on, and she's reading, of course - something on human behaviors. I roll my eyes and sit at the foot of her bed.<p>

"Why do you read that stuff?" I ask, crinkling my nose. Bo-ring.

"Because I want to put all those awful criminals in the world in jail." She answers.

"And studying this helps because . . ."

"I'm not sure what field I want to go into yet. But if I can learn people's behaviors and study them, maybe I can tell the innocent from the guilty. I can help with justice."

"Yeah. Just desserts and all that."

"Exactly." Vella smiles at me when she looks over the top her textbook. When I was little, I thought she'd be a lawyer, or a judge. Though strong-willed, Vella wouldn't be able to do that. Her conscious would never let her decide someone's fate, especially if she was defending someone guilty. Uh-uh.

She's gone back to her book, and I don't want to disturb her again, but I can't help it. I need to know.

"Vella. What were you really talking about in the living room?"

"Look, I wanted to tell you, but you were so happy after apologizing - "

"What? Vels, what is it?" I am concerned now. Vella usually doesn't hesitate to hide her opinion. What could be wrong?

"I got an odd note in a textbook I bought . . . This one, actually."

"You bought it used, right? Could be someone's old notes." But Vella is already shaking her head.

"You don't understand. Yes, it's used. But I bought it online.

"So?"

"_So_ it would've been checked or something, right? Even if it hadn't been, Ace . . . The note's addressed to me."

I almost choke. "_What?_" I splutter.

"Here."

Wordlessly, I take the note. It's hand written, on regular notepaper. I read it out loud.

"_Vella, _

_Intelligence always comes before Beauty._

_You're needed, Vella. _

_Because you are Intelligent._

_Help Justice."_

My eyes widen. "It's a riddle!"

Vella grimaces. "I know. I just can't figure out what it means."

"When did you find the note?"

"The day I got the book. Two days ago."

I shrug. "Probably doesn't mean anything."

"I wouldn't be worried. If I hadn't found this."  
>She hands me another slip of paper much like the first; it's torn notebook paper. It just repeats the second line: <em>"Intelligence always comes before Beauty."<em>

"Where did you find this one?" I ask.

"On the bottom of my Burger King tray. I went out Christmas shopping yesterday, and stopped there to eat. Acelynn, nobody ever knows about my shopping, even you, since I don't want people snooping for what I got them."

I didn't quite know what to say to that. Not the shopping, the note business.

"It gets weirder. Look at the back of the first note."

I did. It had an address - one that was in _France_.

"Um, wow, that's . . . pretty . . . " Indescribable? Weird? Cryptic? Nothing seems to fit.

"I know." Vella agrees. I yawn.

"We'll figure it out in the morning."

"Aw, no, Vella, I can stay up, help you f-figure this o-out." My own yawning interrupts me. Vella gives me a look.

It clearly says 'Get-to-bed-you-are-not-a-night-owl-like-me'. 'Beauty sleep' and all that.

"Fine," I grumble. "But don't go figuring this out without me! We'll make copies, get it to the police - " Vella laughs.

"All right, Acelynn. We'll do that." She says from her bed.

"Yes, _we_ will!" I tell her, and close her door.

I arrive in my room and get in bed.

* * *

><p>When I wake up, I go to Vella's room, where she should be asleep. I'm going to wait for her to wake, so we can start straight away.<p>

She's not there. I check the kitchen, her favorite reading spots, and her hide-and-seek place as a kid.

I can't find her.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Derek, Papa, Estee and I have searched everywhere.<p>

Vella's gone. Nobody's seen her since last night.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: Sorry it's late. I mean, I hate it when authors sporadically update, and now I'm doing it? I'm such a hypocrite. In my defense though, I finally got to read _The Son of Neptune_ and then I discovered _The Kane Chronicles_. I love Rick Riordan's books. I didn't stop reading for a week.  
><strong>

** Reviews are still appreciated!**

***Amaryllis***


	4. Letters

**A/N: Sorry it's been a long time . . . I have no excuses. :/ **

_**Beauty is a Beast**_

_**Letters**_

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We search for hours. We check the library, bookstores, Vella's college, interrogate her college friends, and visit the café she was likely to haunt early in the morning before falling back asleep in the back corner, a book across her lap.

Vella wasn't at any of these places; nobody knew where she was, either. My family, Derek, and I go to the police station and tell them everything we knew. It is as if she has vanished.

Upon returning home, I desert the rest of my family and run straight to my room. I shut the door behind me and collapse in the corner farthest from it, letting loose the tears I held in all morning in a desperate attempt not to panic.

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I cry and cry, rocking back and forth, hoping for Vella to miraculously come in and ask me what was wrong.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen.

After tormenting myself all morning with gruesome thoughts of what had happened to my sister, I refuse to think about it anymore. I just try to think of a place where she could actually _be_. I lean my head back, against the cool, smooth surface of my painted wall.

Had she gone to France on some strange whim to see her father? But that didn't make much sense; she had planned a trip and visited him not too long ago. It couldn't hurt to check though, could it?

I stand up, a bit cramped, and rush to Vella's room. Surely she had her father's phone number somewhere on her desk, right?

I pause outside the door and take several deep breaths. I run a hand through my hair, collecting my wits and preparing myself. I hadn't been in there since this morning, and – Oh, oh! What if Vella came back while we were out? Maybe we all just missed each other by a few minutes!

I hurriedly open the door, already speaking, because I am _absolutely_ positive that my sister returned.

"Hey, Vella, where were you? I was really - "

I stop speaking abruptly, because nobody is listening.

Vella isn't there.

**::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::**  
>I deflate. My heart sinks. My stomach drops so far it must've hit someone on the ground floor below.<p>

The tears start to prick the back of my still-sparkling-from-my-last-cry eyes again; my nose starts to tingle and my throat tightens. My rosebud lips start to quiver. I had been so sure . . .

Very suddenly, I take a deep breath and stand up straight. No, I'm done crying. What was I going to do? Call someone? Was it Vella's father? Right. I was going to call Vella's father.

I step quickly over to Vella's desk, and stare.

It is, I'm assuming, what could be called an "organized chaos." I peer around several different tipping piles of papers, notebooks, and large books (some in different languages), only to find a rubber-banded bundle of pens, pencils, and highlighters, all of varying sizes.

I sigh, and then sniffle, because Vella's not here to cast annoyed glances at my useless sighing. I open the drawer in her desk to my right, and find several tiny notebooks. One of these must be it.

I cast aside one that's labeled _Addresses, _a small purple one entitled _Business Phone Numbers_, and finally come across a little yellow one with pictures of our family on it. It's exactly what I am searching for: _Family Phone Numbers._

I flip through to the "E" section for "Étoile", Vella and Estee's previous last name, and dial the number with the phone that's resting precariously on my sister's desk.

Here goes nothing.

**::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::*::**

He answers in French. Only natural, of course, and I reply in the same way. My sister's father seems like a nice man, and I don't want to cause any more worry. He asks how Vella is, and I skirt around the topic, ending with a "Sorry, I actually dialed the wrong number, I meant to call my mère . . . " I don't know that he necessarily bought that.

Nevertheless, Vella's dad says he hopes we're well and says good-bye. I hang the phone up with a sigh.

Well. That did _not_ turn out according to plan. I am dangerously close to tears again, when someone calls softly from the doorway.

"Ace."

I feel the tears pool at my eyelashes and look through their watery lenses to see Derek.

"Oh, don't call me that." I wail. "It reminds me of Vella." Even though she hardly calls me that anymore, Vella came up with the nickname. I blink, and though I do not want it to happen, the tears race down my face and roll down to my chin.  
>"Sorry." He apologizes guiltily, maybe because I am crying.<br>"S'all right." I mumble thickly, and move to sit down on Vella's bed.

And then I see it.

"Derek." I say, my voice hushed.

"What?" he asks, obviously not seeing what I am staring at. I point to something just under Vella's pillow, peeking out ever so slightly.

It's a slip of paper. I dart forward and snatch it; I'm afraid it may disappear.

"Is that -" Derek starts.

"Yes." I breathe. Because stapled together are not _one_, but _three_ pieces of paper. The first two are the notes Vella had received; the third is a note from Vella herself. I shriek in delight. _Finally_, there is something that could help me. I grab a confused Derek by the wrist and drag him downstairs with me, to the kitchen where Papa and Estee are speaking in lowered voices.

They seem just as confused as Derek when I arrive, beaming. I hold the paper up triumphantly.

"This," I begin, "is from Vella. I haven't read it yet, but maybe she left a note saying where she went." I announce brightly.

They all grow excited, telling me to read it aloud. I comply, and clear my throat from all my previous crying.

"_Dear Acelynn,_

_You wanted to figure out what it means, so I'm leaving it here for you. Hidden, sort of, just in case of – Nevermind, I can't tell you that. I know you can do this, Acey. Please, you have to . . . you're the only person I know who can and will do this for me. I made a mistake, Acelynn, and I hope you don't make the same one . . . then again, you might. It's called a fatal flaw for a reason. _

_However, I **can** tell you this:_

_Follow the address, and you find me. _

_I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell you, you shouldn't do it, but they – Oh, I can't say that either. _

_Anyway, Papa, Maman, and Derek – I love and miss you all, but it must be Acelynn. Please, you can't come with her, or go in her stead, I'm sorry, truly. They ma – Bother, I'm going outside restrictions again. Look, one last thing: _

_Acelynn, don't forget your photo shoot._

_Love from, _

_Vella_

We sit in silence, stunned, thinking and pondering and wondering about Vella's little letter. Finally, it sinks in.

"Eeep! My photo shoot!" I squeal, checking the clock. Then I flush, because my parents and Derek are staring at me, and I realize I just sounded quite selfish. Oh, but I need to look stunningly beautiful for Arty's shoot! Apparently, my family has not had the same reassurance from Vella's note as I have.

"Look," I explain hurriedly. "There's no need to worry. I'll just go down to the address –" I wave the paper with the address on it. "Tomorrow, or tonight, even, and go get Vella. It's not a problem, really. I know where she is. It may take time, but I can get her." I shrug nonchalantly. There's no need to worry; obviously, now that we know where Vella is, and that she's _fine_, we can easily get her back. What kind of world do they think we live in? Goodness.

"Now, Acelynn we don't know for sure that she's –" Papa started lecturing, but I cut over him.

"Yes, I do. It says so right here. Vella wouldn't lie. Look, can we talk about this when I get back? I need to go."

"What is the matter with you, Acelynn? I don't underst – " Derek starts angrily, but Estee puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. She speaks to me, her voice quiet and even.

"We will talk about it when you return. Go to your shoot." The way my stepmother speaks, so cold and stiff, is the alert of her disappointment in me and her sadness of Vella's whereabouts.

I swirl around and leave the kitchen, then the house, angrily slamming the door behind me. I realize I've forgotten my jacket; it doesn't matter, I decide, since I will only be walking from various buildings to my car. I won't be in the cold long.

I slide into the driver's seat of the car, and slam that door, too. I sit a moment and pout.

I finally found something with Vella's whereabouts. I know that I have to go, and _excuse me_ if I try to put things back to normal so that I don't have to dwell on any of the things that could be happening to Vella. I'm as worried as the rest of them, possibly more so. Vella is not only my sister, but my best friend as well. So _sorry,_ Derek, if I'm not living up to your expectations of crying and wailing and bemoaning my _horrible_ existence and my sister's _terrible_ fate, but _I've_ had enough crying for a few days. And _yes_, Estee, I _will _go to the photo shoot and have a wonderful time being vain and petty and pretty, because the _last_ thing I want to do is sit and come up with various creative and downright _nasty_ things that Vella might've been through.

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**A/N: Sorry, I wanted to put the photo shoot in this chapter but it didn't really work after Acelynn's little tirade. Please R&R!**


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